


High School AU

by tomorrowwemightwake



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M, Peterick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:16:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrowwemightwake/pseuds/tomorrowwemightwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Stump doesn't know a lot about Pete Wentz.</p>
<p>What he does know is that Joe (the guy he was talking about Neurosis with at Barnes and Noble) showed up with him at Patrick’s house for his audition, and Pete made fun of his argyle sweater. And socks. Which, whatever. Patrick’s coordinated. It’s totally cool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what the hell this is. But it totally happened, and I don't know if it should continue.

Patrick Stump doesn't know a lot about Pete Wentz.

What he _does_ know is that Joe (the guy he was talking about Neurosis with at Barnes and Noble) showed up with him at Patrick’s house for his audition, and Pete made fun of his argyle sweater. And socks. Which, whatever. Patrick’s coordinated. It’s totally cool.

(There was also the part where Pete declared undying love for Patrick after he heard him sing, but Pete seemed kind of high at the time, so Patrick ignored that.)

And _now,_ well—

“What the hell, Pete?”

— _now,_ Pete’s standing on the hood of his car in the middle of the high school parking lot holding a boom box over his head, blasting Saves the Day for everyone to hear. 

There’s a scream of, “Patrick!”, a crash as the boom box hits the ground, a blur of movement, and then Patrick is supporting the weight of a tiny, tattooed body. 

There’s a whole lot of staggering, because _hi, Pete,_ who’s clamped on and not letting go.

“No, seriously, Pete, _what the hell_?” Patrick’s sort of pissed off now, because they’re in the middle of the parking lot, it’s cold, and people are staring.

Patrick hates people staring.

“You stopped texting me!” Pete squeaks out, looking up at Patrick with doe eyes and an expression that could end wars, cure cancer, make Santa exist, or. Something. “Don’t hate me, ‘Trick, _‘Trick,_ if you hate me, I don’t think I can live anymore—Lunchbox, you’re single handily responsible for my tragic and untimely death, Patrick, I can’t live if you hate me!” Pete looks moments away from breaking down, and— _what the fuck—_ there are actual tears forming in his eyes.

Patrick smacks his head with a _thwap._ “I was in school, you loser.”

Pete still looks miserable, and Patrick sighs. “I can’t text in school, Pete. If I do, I lose my phone and you don’t get to text me at all.”

There’s less clenching in Pete’s grip as he straightens slightly. “You don’t hate me?”

Another sigh. “No, Pete. Although if you don’t let go of me soon, I might change my mind.”

Pete grins and releases Patrick in favor of clutching his hand. “Hey, you’re done now, right? Take me to get milkshakes, Patrick. I want a milkshake.” Pete’s hanging on Patrick’s arm and fishing around in his backpack for his keys. “Fuck, where are they?”

“Pete, no, _Pete.”_ Patrick wrenches his arm from Pete’s grip. “Dude, I’m only on a passing period, I've still got psych to go to.”

His expression falls again, and—dammit, there’s the ending-wars face. “But, I want milkshakes with you now, ‘Tricky, I don’t want them in an hour. Skip for me?”

Patrick doesn't fold. Patrick will not fold. Patrick is a rock. Patrick is the motherfucking sword in the motherfucking stone. Patrick will not give in.

Pete’s pout gets bigger, and who is he kidding—Patrick is a motherfucking softie. “Fine.”  He pulls out his keys, glares at Pete some more, and climbs in his car. It takes five more seconds, and Pete is bouncing in the passenger seat.

“You’re the best, Lunchbox. Seriously. I’ll love you forever.”

Patrick snorts. “You suck.  Plus, Lloyd Dobler, seriously?”

There’s a smirk in response. “I could Lloyd Dobler your Diane Court so hard, Pattycakes. You don’t even know.”

***

There are only a few days that Patrick might characterize as completely and 100% a good day, but this might be one of them.

(Well, maybe not 100%. Pete stole his milkshake five minutes after they got them, but it was pretty close.)

But dairy related catastrophes aside, there are few things Patrick enjoys more than spending time with Pete. Minus the twitchy, octopus-grabbing-Patrick tendencies, which, Patrick’s not too sure about, but he thinks they’re increasing in frequency. And he dares anyone to spend an extended amount of time with an adorable and clingy cephalopod without falling in love a little bit. Maybe some noises of adoration, at least. (Which Patrick totally did not make. Not in front of Pete, anyway. Those happened later, on the phone with Joe.)

Which Joe does totally _not appreciate,_ seriously, what the hell. He is not a 12 year old girl. No. He is a manly senior with rad-as-hell hair and tattoos and a motherfucking beard who DOES NOT HAVE TIME for Patrick’s ridiculous lovelorn life.

Except for how he kind of does.

“You’re ridiculous, man.”

Patrick groans in response. “Dude, this is totally your fault. You brought him over to my house. You should know I have a penance for stray hardcore pretty-boys, Joe. You have to suffer the consequences now.”

“He made fun of your argyle,” Joe says. “The Patrick I know would never allow that.”

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “He did make fun of my argyle, Joe,” Patrick says sadly. “He definitely did, and I don’t even care.”

And if that isn't the most pathetic thing Joe has ever heard, he might have to reconsider his status as a high school senior and not a middle school girl. “Dude,” he says. “I might come over there and smother you with a pillow just to put you out of your misery.”

“You can’t tonight,” he answers. “My mom’s taking me out for Indian food. Maybe tomorrow?”

Joe snorts. “Sure, ‘Trick. I’ll suffocate you tomorrow.”

“Cool,” Patrick says. “Make sure Pete cries at my funeral.”

***


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am well seduced, Trick,” Pete says. “That…was so graceful.”  
> “Shut up.”   
> “So full of dignity. You’re like a racehorse.”   
> “Pete.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo, guys. Sorry for the terribly long waiting period. Thank you all sososososo much for actually reading and all that business. (I hope this lives up to your expectations and such.) There should be more soon, too, because I think I've figured out where the hell this is actually going. Let me know anything you'd like regarding this or otherwise! :) I hope you've all been having a lovely day.

***

Patrick Stump doesn’t know a lot about Pete Wentz.

What he _does_ know is that he suddenly seems to monopolize a majority of Patrick’s free time. And not so free time, too—he keeps showing up at Patrick’s school, for one. Not that Patrick’s complaining too much. Pete’s the hot dude from a local band that everyone knows, and he’s hanging out with the weird kid from who never talks. (Patrick’s normally not one for people getting comeuppance, but fuck yeah. The cheerleaders totally feel stupid now for laughing at him.) It’s worth it. Plus, Patrick gets lots of quality Pete Wentz time. Which is also worth it.

There’s also the part where Pete keeps showing up at Patrick’s house at inconvenient times.

Patrick’s just gotten home from a late night grocery store run for his mom (it’s her “time of the month”, goddamnit, menopause isn’t coming fast enough) when that dark mass he assumed was the hydrangeas starts moving.

“Jesus Christ, Pete.”

“Trick!” Patrick’s enveloped in the dark mass, which is not at all flowery and leafy like a hydrangea bush.

“Did you ever think about maybe knocking on the door and going inside? Or, I dunno, calling me?” Patrick asks.

Pete’s clinging to him, and somehow manages to wrap himself around Patrick’s torso without touching the ground. “Nope,” he grins. “Onward, my noble steed!” And with no further ado, he digs his heels into the sides of Patrick’s thighs, urging him forwards.

Patrick is not a fucking horse, and promptly dumps Pete on his ass.

“Hey!” Pete protests.

“Is that how you greet everyone?” Patrick says as he unlocks the front door. “No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

Ignoring the slight jab at his honor, Pete presses on. “Only the ones I like, man.” His eyebrows do a poor imitation of the wave. “It’s my special form of _seduction._ ”

Patrick’s busy handing the plastic bags to his mom, but he totally lets a snort loose at that one.

“That is not how you seduce people,” Patrick says, choosing to ignore the fact that Pete’s tactic of spontaneous piggyback riding kind of seduced him. Goddamnit.

He’s not looking at Pete, but he can practically feel the eyebrow raise. “No? I’ve been miseducated, then. You must teach me, Patrick.”

And of fucking course, that’s exactly when Patrick’s mom decides to pitch in. “No, Pete,” she says, completely serious. “If anyone needs help in the seduction department, it’s Patrick. I mean, poor little lamb’s never even had a girlfriend, let alone had sex!”

Patrick’s cheeks rival that of his mom’s red synthetic nails. “Oh my _god,_ Mom,” moans Patrick, but both of them are too busy laughing at him to pay attention. The fuckers.

Patrick turns tail and flees up the stairs before it can get worse. Pete follows, still laughing his stupid donkey laugh.

***

“I’m still waiting for you to show me the art of seduction, Lunchbox.” Pete’s lounging on Patrick’s bed, while Patrick attempts to read the chapter about meiosis in his biology book. “Teach me your ways, Obi wan!”

“Take your shoes off, man,” Patrick says.  “Also, as far as I know, Star Wars falls outside the realm of seduction material.” He’s still not ready to forgive Pete for laughing. God, mothers are so humiliating sometimes.

The bed’s shaking with Pete’s maniac caterpillar wriggling. (Patrick’s briefly reminded of the hookah smoking one from Alice in Wonderland. Also not great seduction material, so he stops that train of thought before it goes any further.) “Seduce me, Von Stump!”

Patrick doesn’t actually know how to flirt with people, much less seduce them. “No.”

There’s hardcore pouting going on now. Maybe some puppy eyes too, but he’s doing his best to avoid looking at Pete. Which is actually going pretty well, until Pete decides it’s a good idea to crawl up between Patrick’s legs to circumvent his textbook and desk.

Pete on his knees in front of Patrick is something he’s never going to forget, but something he certainly can’t handle _right now._ As in, _right now_ when Patrick’s thoughts are a compilation of _Pete_ and _seduction_ and _oh god PETE’S ON HIS KNEES. IN FRONT OF ME. THERE ARE ASSOCIATIONS. ASSOCIATIONS INVOLVING HIS DICK._

So Patrick maybe reacts way jerkily and maybe sort of tips his chair backwards.

Which is totally what he meant to do.

“I am well seduced, Trick,” Pete says. “That…was so graceful.”

“Shut up.”

“So full of dignity. You’re like a racehorse.”

“ _Pete._ ”

Pete’s looking at him with wide eyes and a smirk of amusement. “Did I scare you, Pattycakes?”

Patrick’s a little over being humiliated for the day. He’s totally going to seduce Pete right now, dammit. Fuck the consequences.

So he starts singing _Let’s Get It On._ He knows for a fact that Martin Gaye would definitely be proud of his rendition; most days Patrick hates his own voice, but even he has to admit that he rocks this song.

 And Pete, well. Pete goes from amusement to shock to turned on in a matter of ten seconds. (Or that might just be Patrick’s subconscious projecting his lust, though Patrick’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the heavier breathing.)

He makes it through the first rounds of _let’s get it on_ s before stopping. Pete’s sort of just staring, which is freaking Patrick out a little.

Scratch that, a lot.

“Holy shit,” Pete says, and it’s all breathy and weird. (Patrick’s a little turned on by it.) “ _Dude,_ where has that been hiding? Like, I knew you could sing and all, but _holy shit._ ”

The consequences that Patrick didn’t care about a minute ago are starting to rear their heads.

“Seriously, how are you still a virgin?” Pete asks. “That voice would totally be a turn on to chicks. Guys, too.”

Patrick’s blushing. “Uh…”

There’s just that stupid laugh in response. “You’re so awesome,” Pete  says. He’s made his way back over to Patrick’s bed and is making himself comfortable again.

“That voice is gonna get us famous, man,” Pete sighs. “You and me. We’re gonna rule the world someday.”

Patrick looks over at him. He’s got his eyes closed and hands behind his head.

“You and me, Trick.”

***


End file.
